


Your Kingdom Come

by thefowl_of_manyfeathers



Category: Original Work
Genre: Choose Your Own Adventure, Fantasy, Female Protagonist, Gen, Inappropriate Humor, Mild Language, Minor Violence, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-20 23:34:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4806419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefowl_of_manyfeathers/pseuds/thefowl_of_manyfeathers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They say a kingdom and its territory is only as great as the one who seizes the throne. However, when there may come hell and high waters, it comes into question whether this youth can earn allies as well as deal with losing them in turn. Nevertheless, she may discover that gaining the reins is probably something she may not want at all. As choices come and go, who will stay and who will betray?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cue Conflict

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A first story for a new account. And what do I decide on? Something original in the not-so-original genre of a CYOA/WWYFF. Of course, you're going to have to rely on the chapter index to navigate your ways through this story. Otherwise, have at!

Maternal hands pass over your shoulders and arms, smoothing invisible sleeves before gliding down to cinch your corset. “There’s nothing to be worrying over.” Her voice is calm, reassuring. What else would it be? She is the Queen after all, and she was simply striding aside, handing her throne to you. She had to be composed and confident in you, didn't she? 

Mothers should know how to act. Yours tended to be distant, though. Staring into some far away land through the panes of glass. Often times she chided you for things, and you hardly understood what she was going on about. 

Or was that how all Mothers were? Sometimes, you weren't ever so certain. 

“(Name), you are simply…” She pauses, turning you to the arching mirror off to the side. “Simply a treasure.” The emphasis she settles upon her words makes you a bit uneasy. Your Mother always held compliments to herself, settling for merely giving you a glance of distinctive approval. But these days she spews appraisals like a torrential downpour. The Queen runs the tines of a comb through your locks, pulling them from your features, although according to most you much prefer to hide behind them. “Aren't you thrilled to take hold of the kingdom?” 

An **honest** question. Deserving of one **honest** answer. 

Honesty had no place with your Mother, however. “I’m thrilled.” You hum in the most thoughtful tone you can muster. If truth was told, you would have stated that you did not want to take reign after the tyranny your parents’ held for so long. All those problems and conflicts they began… 

How can you make all of it disappear? _If not the trouble, then why not yourself?_

The reflection in the large mirror, it shows someone of high stature; someone who beams at every syllable uttered by the Queen, clearly she was thrilled to take the throne after her parents. But your innards churn in malcontent and you know this calm was a mere farce like someone had cast a cloak upon the kingdom and shrouded the land in ignorance. 

Then again, who says ignorance is bliss?  
_Are they right?_

You notice your Mother has made her way to the massive oaken doors to the Northern side of the room. She’s saying something but you’re too conflicted to listen. If nothing else, you know the routine for the coronation by now–

“… _**(Name)**_.” Harsh. Demanding. She is obviously taking notice of the fact you're not even with her mentally. Maybe not even in spirit. 

“Y-yes?” Caught off on an inward tangent again, and that sharpness to your Mother's tone is a tad startling in contrast to her usual notes of frailty. 

The Queen seems as though something perches on her tongue, but she merely bobs her head in acknowledgement, casting away your rudeness as nerves and leaves to continue the preparations. You are alone.

You are finally alone for the first time in what seems to have been ages. You peer at yourself again in the mirror, a more so complex reaction stares back; creases in the brows, pursed lips, a feigned sense of cheer radiates from the glass and back unto you. Turning away you find a dress, sewn in radiant shades of ivory and burgundy and sage, the hues of the kingdom no doubt. Next to it you spot your usual garb; simplistic earthen toned threads woven with leather and costly animal hides. You find yourself thumbing the fabrics, each of them rising different notes of emotion within you. “What good is it to be here…?” You feel the familiar edge of conflict rising in your voice. “But what good would it do to evade the inevitable…?” Looking between the two outfits, you finally decide to–-

> You decide to slip away. There really is no use in remaining here. **Proceed to Chapter Two.**  
>  You decide to stay and help with preparations. After all, you should probably learn to get used to being in the castle at all times. **Proceed to Chapter Three.**  
> 


	2. Flee the Castle

Slipping into your more traditional, and albeit less appealing garments, you lock the doors to your room and cast open the glass archway to the balcony. The springtime air wafts into the room, settling around you before a wind scurries past. It was odd, you’d considered making it out of here, but you’d never considered how per se. 

Striding over to the edge you peer down… _And down some more_ … Slipping back a few steps, you curse over a mild wave of vertigo.

There is certainly no way you would be jumping from here. As if hearing a silent plea for an escape route, there came a rustling of tree boughs, a shifting of budding leaves. “But maybe…” You grin at the tall pine settled nearby. It had been many the year since you tried conquering trees. It seemed that clambering up one was the easier part whereas getting back down again was more of a game of recalling where to set your weight without–

And down you went. None too far of a distance, however, but just enough to bruise and put a minor quirk in your step. It is more of a wonder to you that no one heard the scree as you tumbled downward than it is how you ended up on your rump with pine needles strewn everywhere accompanied by a few flimsy pieces of bark. 

No time to dawdle, now. You make haste to the stables. 

Getting to them is easy enough, few attendants gathered about outside due to the upcoming coronation in the next couple days. Everything which must be done, was within the castle, thankfully for you and your luck. However…

There he was. Armor and all, strewn out with his head cocked up against a lean golden horse out in the paddocks.

 _“Reinholdt!”_ You blurt. Was this all for nothing? Have you catapulted down a tree all to be caught by your sleeping knight? “My knight. Reinholdt the ‘Titan’. Hard to believe his sole purpose is to guard me. And yet here he is…” A haughty snort sounded off as you contemplated everything. Then suddenly the situation became entirely laughable. “You ass!” Came your sharp tone. Here is the supposed mightiest of the mighty in your ranks and he was snoring, loudly, with some stallions out in the fields. Then again, he is known to be a lazy prick most of the time. Also he was here to protect you, not to… Was he drooling? “Fine. Keep my horse. I’ll just walk.” You mutter harshly. With a growl you begin to retrace your steps.

That man, the knight who lazily drooled onto the golden coat of his horse, suddenly rolls over and peers in your direction at your fading form. With a great yawn, he shifts and stands, his head brushing against the withers of some of the taller horses. Coaxing his horse to wake up, he leads it into the stables and casts one more glance at where you were heading. 

“‘m an ass, eh?” Pale eyes narrow as he begins to tack his mount in preparation for following you. “What a fuckin’ brat.” He grunts to himself. 

Who knew he had such good hearing? _For an ass, that is._

It was some time, seeing as you were forced to go by foot, to make it past the grounds and into the outskirts where peasants and others dwell aimlessly. As always, you come to another choice, a distinctive fork in your pathway once you make it past the outer village nestled before the castle. 

The sign is weathered and crumbling, the only thing creating stability for it was the metal post it was bolted into. 

“ _ **‘Left to the Northern Territory. Right to the Southern Territory’**_.” You read the scrawl. 

To the North there are the mountains, and most likely imposingly frigid air despite any season. To the South there are the dense forests with a foreboding yet mystical air. Either way they both are said to contain something of value.

> Forget the forest, the mountains prove more comforting this day, even with the cold. You choose the left path. **Proceed to Chapter Four.**  
>  What’s life without venturing into the dark, scary places? You choose the right path. **Proceed to Chapter Six.**  
> 


	3. Enter the Innuendos

You know your duties now. There’s no use in running from them.

You summon a chambermaid to assist you with the gown and casting a looking in the mirror, affix a familiarly false look of calm onto your face. The gown is perfect, but you, more so, are not. Or rather, you feel imperfect standing in pooling silken fabrics woven with delicate filigree of your soon-to-be Kingdom’s colors. Hues of ivory drown underneath shades of burgundy while intricacies of sage tickled the dress all over. 

“Y’look mighty like a beaut’.” Came the accented voice from next to you. 

You turn to face the maid, for someone who swore service to a couple of tyrants, she appeared very serene in her line of duty here. Perhaps due to living in the innards of the castle–

Her smile never wavered, even as you turn to her. “I appreciate the compliment.” You do. You always liked hearing things similar to that, even if you weren’t ever so sure of them yourself.

Once thanking the youth, you give her a confident curtsy-if you could call it that, you never quite got the hang of those-then stride out the door and through the halls, only to pause to peer at some paintings and tapestries. Older men and women, some in the form of couples, others in the guise of singular beings, stared back. Regal and imposing as ever, was this something you could live up to? This long generation of royals who seized charge with an iron vice-grip? 

“Don’t look at me like that.” You grunt at the portraits who seem to be glowering. “You’re all dead, I don’t need your approval.” 

_Or do you?_

Shaking yourself out of your trance you find your way to the staircase leading into the main room and find that there are plenty of people here already. Maybe you should have come sooner, less people milling about. But yet this was an important time, a great deal of people and beings would be gathering here anyhow. You don’t appear willing enough to move, it is as though someone has nailed your toes to the floorboards.

**“(Name)!”** Came a dauntingly charming voice from the bottom of the stairs. 

Your eyes refrain from narrowing at the female who casually drapes herself upon the railing, gazing up at you with distinctive, if not somewhat gross, adoration. “Princess Elizibeth.” You suck back a snide remark as her blue hues brim with pride at the title.

Since when was she the only one of regal standing here? And in your own home no less?

You descend the lengthy staircase, taking great care to evade her at the bottom. If it was one thing you couldn't stand about this one, even though there may as well be many things, it was the fact she presumed she immediately owned everything, and everything included you.

As you make your way past her, she finds her way to your side. “You look gorgeous, you know.” She remarks, rising just over your head. “I don’t see why you won’t dress like this more often. After all a Princess should–"

“A Princess shouldn't tell another royal what to do unless she is _Queen_.” You pause, turning to her, eyes darkening with warning. “Especially not if she is under the other royal's roof.” 

The look on her face falters for a moment, that ever-present smirk fading into a scowl before her own rebuke makes itself known. “A bit touchy aren't we? Once we've been wed that passion of yours will be pretty interesting in many other aspects, won’t it?” 

**_“You–"_ **

“Oh don’t you worry, (Name).” She coos, taking a few steps ahead as you watch her back, willing her brain to explode. She canted her head over her shoulder and added softly, “Gentle or not, I promise it’ll be a Hell of a time.”

Elizibeth has quite the audacity to talk to you like that. But it is an effective means to silence you. You had to hand it to her, she knew you well enough to take you head-on. Not even your knight was willing to do that. However, there was a fine line betwixt flirting and annoying. This Princess often times crosses it and it was perhaps high time to give her what-for. Then again, it was mildly entertaining to watch her counter you each and nearly every time. 

What to do…?

> Make a sharp rebuttal. It couldn't hurt. The worst this fellow Princess is made of is words. **Proceed to Chapter Five.**  
>  Walk away. Ignoring her will keep her at bay. Sticks and stones, sticks and stones… **Proceed to Chapter Seven.**  
> 


End file.
